Give Him Grief
by Just another time-lord
Summary: Sherlock comes back and everything was supposed to be fine. But what happens when everyone realises just how those three years away from John affected him?


**Warning for dark themes. **

The blood dripped down the bedframe silently, only making a noise as it fell to the slowly forming puddle of crimson on the ground. The wrist hung limply, strung up with rusted handcuffs, the cuts along the wrists adding to the blood. The arm was tanned and strong, slinging down to a firm shoulder and body. The victims head was turned to the side, eyes closed and mouth slack, looking for all the world as if in a post-sex sleep.

The thick gash across his neck ruined the illusion. The bed was stained with his blood, his chest and stomach were tacky with his own dried sweat. Littered across the bed and on the floor were his clothes, flung haphazardly around as he was lead to the bed, and his doom. The killers clothes and DNA were gone, any fingerprint or strand of hair had been meticulously cleaned. The only evidence of anything unjust being the rusted handcuff and the wounds.

Sherlock took in all the information immediately. Eyes scanning the dead man and the bed with his normal analytical gaze. John shifted behind him, unused to such a death. He cleared his throat and quietly asked if Sherlock knew what had happened. A stupid question really, it wasn't hard to see what had happened. The only thing that had forced Sherlock into silence being the dead man. Blonde, short, tanned; a fairly average man. Except for the drawing of a disturbed smiley face drawn in red marker over his left shoulder.

"It's for me." Sherlock breathed. He rushed into the room, trying to take in more information, ducking down and moving things, becoming almost breathless in his effort. "It's for me!" he yelled when John didn't say anything.

John frowned, "What do you mean it's for you?"

"This, all of this, it's a sign, can't you see! He's back!" Sherlock moved to grip Johns shoulders, but he couldn't feel John properly, it felt different, slightly bulkier and taller. He shrugged it off to say, "He wants to play, John. Moriarty wants to play games."

"Alright, Sherlock, i'm going to need you to calm down." John stated firmly, his eyes shifted, changing colours and then back. Sherlock frowned, as if he could be calm when there was a crime scene with a man who looked like John on the bed.

"Don't be stupid, John, I need to finish this." he said flippantly, turning around. As he turned, John grabbed his wrists with too big hands, there was the snap of metal and then cold handcuffs were pushed against his wrists, locking him in. "John, what the hell?" he snapped, trying to turn to see John, in vain as John then shoved him against the wall.

"I can't believe you!" John yelled, his voice cracking and coming out differently. "He fucking loved you." Johns voice changed entirely, sounding older, rougher.

"Wha-" Sherlock started confusedly.

John shoved him against the wall again, snapping, "Sherlock Holmes, you're under arrest for the murder of Doctor John Watson. Anything you say-" The voice droned on as the sound of roaring wind and waves filled Sherlocks ears. He didn't kill John, that was ridiculous, he loved John. As he was roughly pulled away from the wall, he looked over the body, catching sight of the face, dread filled his heart as something in him broke, he finally saw things for what they were. John on the bed, his head turned and his wrist caught in a rusted handcuff, a gash across his neck and a smiley face over his scar. The man he had previously thought to be John made a strangled noise, Sherlock turned to look at him, roaring in anguish as Johns face wavered and Lestrades emerged. He tore his gaze away from Lestrade and down to the floor, only noticing then that his clothing was completely covered in blood. He screamed and tried to say something, anything to get this all to stop. But when he opened his mouth to speak, the only thing that came out was, "He was going to get married. He can't leave me."

He didn't know why he said it, why he did what he did. All he knew was that John was never going to leave him and the second he was allowed by himself, he could end everything and be with John again.

**Okay, I apologise as this was kind of just something I wrote to get your attention. I once wrote a fic called "Don't Call Me Sherly." It was a teen!lock fic and I deleted it. I had quite a few followers and stuff and hopefully one of these followers took it off the website and put it on their own computer to read whenever. But I would love it back because I want to rewrite it, and at least read it because I don't really remember what happened other than a maze and maybe drugs.**

**Thanks for reading this. x**


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